The Boa's Den

(An old journal entry from Peace Corps Benin)

Friday, June 8, 2007.

I just went on a simply memorable adventure with two village hunters. Caitlin and I got up at dawn this morning to hike up the Shakaloke hill. We sipped on warm cups of mocha out of my thermos and drank in the scenery. Upon our return, Caitlin hastily left for Adourekouman, her village, in a government vehicle with her university colleagues. Once the excitement of the fancy automobile driving through the village had died down, I was called over by one of the town drunks sitting by my neighbor’s new little shop. I usually avoid any conversation with this drunk, because he tends to ramble in Idaatcha until I become so confused he finally explains in slurred French that he wants me to either have a drink with him or buy a round for him and his friends.

Today, seeing as I’d just refused sodabi from a bunch of women up the road and was then informed that my refusal meant that I had to buy them a bottle of the drink, I decided I should at least go and tell him hello and that my name is in fact Felicie and not Sylvie. He was sitting with a hunter named Richard. We exchanged words, and the conversation developed into something much more interesting than I had imagined. They asked me when I was planning on leaving the village to return to my foreign land and stated that I should never leave. I told them I would be replaced, and they replied no replacement would ever be as athletic and mobile as me. Apparently, over the two years I’d lived in Camate, this drunk whose name I’d never bothered to learn, had never ceased marveling at how much I run, bike, and hike. In his opinion, this was a good enough reason for me never to leave Camate. Or, he added, I should at least stay another ten years.

Conversation moved on to the wildlife in the hills around the village. Richard the hunter talked about what he hunts. He informed me there was a big boa constrictor near the village of Ekpa that recently laid 26 eggs! Seeing my curiosity and excitement at this bit of news, he offered to take me to see the newly hatched babies. I said “ok”, I was ready. He looked at me in surprise. Really? Are you sure? I nodded with a big smile and he got up to go change into his hunting clothes as I went home to put on mine.

Soon after, I heard his hunting dogs at the door. We set off in the company of one of my neighbors, Apolinaire the hunter. Fortunately, Apolinaire speaks adequate French, compared to Richard. We hiked to Ekpa, about two kilometers, and then climbed up the hill behind the Ifa Fetish house guarding the village entrance. Somewhere up there, the boa had her den. Hunters had been after her the past four months because she was reportedly feasting on villagers’ guinea fowl flocks. She had fled and sought refuge in a cave. We arrived to the mouth of the cave and Richard crawled in on his belly. The opening was barely two feet high. Apolinaire asked me if I was capable of going in. I was nervous, but decided that if they believed there was no danger, I was ready.

Bush rat droppings and moist, rich dirt blanketed the entrance. Richard was armed with various snake sticks and a rifle. He’d brought his flashlight, and I had my headlamp and camera. Apolinaire went in next, and I followed. The crawl space went upwards and became more and more narrow. I saw three iron traps set with open jaws, waiting for their slithering victim. There suddenly seemed to be little oxygen in that cramped space. Richard invited me to crawl up to the hole where I could see the babies he’d been trying to coax out. They explained the mother lay deeper in the hole and was not about to come out. I nevertheless imagined her storming out of the hole, mouth gaping, ready to bite our heads off. There was no hope of a quick retreat. The hunters urged me to go as deeply as possible and to shine my lamp down to the right. Light attracts them. I finally shimmied up past the hunters to the mouth of the hole and did as they told. I strained to see movement. Finally, I saw one. A shiny whitish head was peeking out from the rock, a hesitant tongue flickered. The men asked if I wanted them to try and get one of the babies out. They found my seeming anxiety humorous, so I figured there really was no danger. Try as he might, no boa came out, so Richard withdrew from the cave and Apolinaire helped me bring my camera back up to the hole to blindly photograph the vague area where I’d seen the baby’s head poke out.

Back out in the sunlight, we all looked at one another and laughed. We were plastered and encrusted in dirt. Richard went back in to re-set the traps while Apolinaire and I chatted amidst the rodent droppings and sleeping dogs. He asked if my stay here was almost over. It seems to be on everyone’s mind. They want to know when I plan to leave them, and they all say I should never go. He too said that if I get replaced it is not likely that this person would be so ready to be with the people. It is rare that someone would want to crawl way up a cave to see baby boas, and get so dirty in the process. You are as courageous as a man, he said. If I were God, I’d make it so you stayed.…

We walked back to Camate via the hilltop ridge. There was a phenomenal view of Camate at an angle I’d not yet seen. I grinned all the way home, very satisfied with the excursion. We sure turned heads, walking back; the three of us covered in dirt, one with a rifle, one barefoot, and well, me…